


it's time to go

by Polyhexian



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: A lot of talk of death, ASL, CPTSD, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Second Person, PTSD, imposter syndrome, nonverbal link, sidlink - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 05:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20869220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian
Summary: Dear SidonI'm sorry. I think it likely that by the time you read this letter, I will no longer be a part of this world, at least, whatever form I currently exist within the world will not exist in it anymore. I know that sounds weird. It's all weird. What I mean to say is that I'm going to fight Ganon, now, and I think it's pretty likely I'm going to die.





	it's time to go

You've reached the end of your shopping list. Your bag is brimming with fried bananas and weapons, your quiver stocked and tunic washed. There's nothing else you need. It's time for you to go.

And yet….

And yet, you find yourself hesitating, even as you look out at the shimmering black mass that pulses around Hyrule Castle. It's not as if you're scared, but something stops you.

You have the strangest nagging feeling that there isn't a post game to this story. You can't help but feel that when you find the heart of the Calamity, that will be it. You don't just get something for nothing. You were born to kill Ganon, and when it's gone, that will be it. Your purpose will have been fulfilled. You won't need to exist anymore.

Something in your bones tells you that you're going to die.

It's a worthy sacrifice. You are already dead, after all. Four ghosts pilot their Divine Beasts to fulfill the duty they failed in life, and you, the fifth, do the same, piloting your beast of a body, a thing given life by the Sheikah. You hold your sword in a hand that once was lifeless, and you will finish what you could not before. You know that you won't see them again. You know, somehow, the right end to this story is one where you return to death, your duty complete.

You are your duty. You are your sword. You are whatever you have to be.

And yet the thought makes you pause. You'd worked so hard to get anything you felt you needed to prepare yourself as best you could to win. You can be no more ready. Why do you not feel ready?

Your hand twitches at your side, and you know. You're ready to face Ganon. You're not ready to die. Not yet. Maybe your shopping list isn't done yet. 

You are willing to die. You know it's the right thing to do. You had your chance, like so many others. You aren't special. You don't somehow deserve to live more than anyone else. But you have done everything for your duty. You can afford one last selfish moment. 

Your hand finds the Sheikah Slate and opens the map.

* * *

Of all of Hyrule's wonders, no place is more beautiful than the Domain. Just the sight of it's cobalt stone cliffs and sweeping waterways fills your chest with a sense of home. Its the only place in Hyrule you feel real.

You always like the way the sound of your footsteps changes when you step into the bridge into the palace. The ankle deep water that soaks through your boots should frustrate and annoy you, but it never does. Even the blisters you get make you feel real in a fallible way;  _ people _ get blisters, not legendary heroes. 

"Master Link! What a surprise!" A familiar voice says. You can hear his smile in his words before you see it, Captain Bazz's black and white scales shimmering in the twilight, "We haven't seen you in some time."

You shrug and smile at him, and point towards the tower Sidon's quarters rest in.

"Ah, yes, you have good timing. He's just returned home after what I presume was a particularly boring diplomatic excursion to speak with the Gerudo. I suspect he would be more than happy to see you."

Your ears perk up, pleased, and Captain Bazz chuckles. "Go on then," he says, shooing you with the butt of his spear, "you're not here to see me, then." 

As you pick up the pace to a jog down the path, each step taking you further from a man you've been told was once your closest childhood friend, you wonder if you'll ever see him again. Will you die fighting Ganon, or will it be afterward? Will your wounds be too great to survive, or will you simply close your eyes and cease to exist once your purpose is completed? In that final moment, will your memories return to you, or in whatever comes after, will you finally get to see them? Will you ever know what Bazz was to you, or are you walking away, now, from a man destined never to be more than a stranger to you?

Kodah waves as you pass her, a woman you think you used to date, and her husband smiles too. People know you, here. They are glad to see you when you come. You are not a random traveler, not even the Hylian Champion. To people here you're Link, a person, a real person, with motivations and thoughts and feelings. It's in moments like these you can almost convince yourself you have those things, that you are real, that you are more than just an echo of the unfinished business of the Link that died a hundred years ago.

You aren't, though, and they're wrong. You aren't real, you aren't more than that unfinished business. You smile back at them and wave cheerfully as you pass beneath the sloping archways of the palace's open corridors, up the familiar path to the Prince's quarters.

Your knuckles rap on the cool front of the door and you wonder if this is the last time you'll ever knock. Will you ever come here again, ever request audience with this person you've come to crave attention from? Or is this it, the final time you'll say hello? You swallow the lump in your throat and smile, trying to look cheery. This is the last memory of whatever he thinks you are you will leave him with. The least you can do is make it a good one.

The door opens and his face goes from something bland, diplomatic, professional, to lit up like a valley of fire keese. His smile makes your stomach flutter- or maybe you're just hungry, you haven't eaten yet, you're sort of waiting until it's time to start chowing down on bananas- but he seems so happy to see you. He always does. Sidon is a good, kind man, optimistic and headstrong, and stubbornly chooses to see the good in everyone he meets. It puts him in the unfortunate position of being unable to see the reality of what you are, and you do your best not to let him find out. He has done nothing to deserve the disappointment you are capable of dishing out.

"Link!" He beams, "I hadn't been expecting you! Please, come in, come in, you must tell me how you've been!" He steps aside, pulling his door open and ushering you into his room, into his life, into his favour. You step through the threshold and dip your head, pulling your shield strap up and over, relieving yourself of your arsenal for the moment. You set it by the door, and walk away.

"I had only just returned home today from meeting with a Gerudo diplomat," he says as he tidies up his desk, placing bookmarks into tomes and shuffling together papers. You wonder what he had been working on that it was so easily cast aside for your company, "It was decidedly miserable and I could not help but wonder if your travels were any better. I find myself wondering about them often, in fact!" He laughs, turning back to you and ushering you toward the seat he's cleared, "You should visit more, I so enjoy your stories."

You can only tell him some of them. The heroic ones, where you encounter a great enemy and win, or the exciting ones where you find some beautiful ancient ruin full of fascinating relics. You don't tell him the ones where you stumble into a battle you aren't prepared to win and are forced to flee, panicked, bleeding, terrified you'll die here before you have the chance to die the way you're supposed to, or the ones where you stand in fields of burned down villages you could have saved and didn't, and know that every gentle blade of grass is an unmarked grave, that all around you like the unclaimed bones of people who once were foolish enough to trust you. You don't tell him about the sad eyes of his sister's ghost as she mends your broken body after another foolish mistake.

'I found-' you pause, thinking about the phrasing. You could fingerspell master sword, but what a hassle, and you doubt the coloquial gesture for it has survived the last decade in its absence, 'My sword,' you finish, pointing at your blade where you left it by the door. Sidon's eyes widen.

"You mean  _ that _ sword?" He asks, looking between it and you. You nod, and he steps toward it, then looks back to you, "May I?" He asks. You nod again and he reaches for it, almost reverently as he draws it from it's sheath, holding it gently in one hand and laying the flat of the blade in his other palm.

"Wow," he breathes, unblinking, "to think, I hold in my hands the sword that will seal the darkness. It feels like any other sword."

You wave a bit to get his attention before signing, 'It fires lasers.'

"What?" He laughs, startled, "Why?" You shrug. "Can you show me?"

'Not inside.'

"Perhaps tomorrow, then!" He says, cheerily, as he places it back where it had come from. You don't respond. Tomorrow you need the sword that seals the darkness to seal the darkness. You can't stay more than the night, or perhaps you'll never leave.

"Was there a reason for this visit?" He inquires, returning to sit on the edge of his bed. You know he doesn't use it often, most Zora prefer to sleep in the water, but when you have the money and the space it hardly hurts to have another option, and you've slept there enough times to appreciate it. 

'No reason,' you lie. 

"It's always a pleasure to have you visit, my friend. I always enjoy it. Why don't you tell me where you found your sword? It must be quite a tale!"

He seems so eager for the details. No matter how much you tell him he always has more questions. He wants to know what kokiri's voices sound like and what it felt like to be lost in the white mist, what it felt like to stand before the Great Deku Tree and what it felt like to hold the sword again for the first time. The moon had set by the time Sidon stopped him.

"As much as I would love to indulge more of your wild tales," Sidon yawned, "I regret to inform you I simply must retire. Ah-" he stopped, looking back at the pool of water he usually slept in, "I also regret to inform you I had my sleeping pool drained today to be cleaned; something stuck in the vents had made a mess of it while I was gone."

You stand and look over, realizing the pool was, actually, empty. You hadn't noticed that when you entered.

"I can call for a room to be opened for you, if you would like-" Sidon starts, but wave your hand.

'We can share,' you sign, 'I'm small.' 

"Ah!" Sidon blinked, "Of course! How practical."

'If it's okay-' you start, but Sidon waves at you dismissively.

"Perish the thought, it's quite fine. Certainly!" 

You slide your boots off by the door along with your belt and your tunic, leaving you in your undershirt and trousers, and untie your hair, since you're fortunate enough to indulge in a pillow tonight. Tomorrow you will dress again for the final time, and when you rest again you don't expect to wake.

By the time you turn around you see he's already placed his little feather on the nightstand along with his armour and sash. You wind down the oil lamp before sitting, and the darkness hangs coolly between you as you draw your legs up onto the water mattress.

"Do let me know if you need anything," Sidon says, "or if I'm in your way at all."

He probably couldn't see you in the low light, and you have your back to him anyway, so you reach behind you and give his side a pat you hope conveys "yup."

You can feel him breathing behind you, perhaps an inch or two away. His presence is cool, cooler than room temperature, and the night is so warm it feels nice. Part of you wants to shift closer and lay your back against his and let his cool skin bring some relief, but you know you can't. 

You have trouble closing your eyes, and they adjust to the dim light, staring at your sword leaning against the wall. You're glad Sidon thought to return it to its scabbard. Sometimes it glows at night and wakes you up. You need to sleep. You need to be rested for tomorrow. The bed is soft, like it always is, and gentle, and you always feel rested on it. 

You're glad you came today. You haven't done anything, just sat and talked, but you needed it. The part of you that likes to pretend you're real needed to have this moment. A rest for whatever echoes you have left of feelings, to put away that regret. You hope he won't be too upset when you don't come back. You know he will be, at first, but you hope it doesn't hurt long. Maybe someone else will tell him you weren't real so he hasn't really lost anything, and he can find comfort in that.

"I actually…" Sidon says, softly, without moving. You prick your ears as he breathes in, thoughtfully, "am glad you chose to visit today, especially. I had been feeling especially miserable, and was certain nothing could improve my mood after how poorly things went with the Gerudo. And yet, whenever you visit, I am find it… difficult not to be happy. ...Thank you."

You breathe, flexing your hands silently against the sheets. You aren't sure if he knows you're awake.

"You're acting strange today," he continues, "I hope you're alright." 

You pull your arms against your chest. You didn't think it was so obvious. You can't tell him. You don't know what he would say, but you don't want to hear it. You don't want him to tell you not to go, because then you won't, and you have to. You don't want him to tell you to go, because that would mean he… you don't want him to say that either.

"Ah- you're awake," he says, though he doesn't actually sound surprised, "I'm sorry."

You're silent, arms held against your chest, fingers pressed against your shoulders.

"Is there?" He asked, "something wrong?"

You'd have to face him to answer and you don't want to do that. You lie silently.

"Forgive me," he says, after a long moment of silence, "I didn't mean to overstep." 

You feel a sharp pain in the center of your chest. That's not what you wanted him to think, but it's better this way. One last day. It won't hurt long.

The rest of the night is silent. It's hard to fall asleep. You feel a cold chill up your spine, and it keeps you frosty like nights you sleep too close to lizalfos camps you aren't sure are abandoned.

The sun comes up on your last day and you know it's time to go. You need to get up, get dressed, and face your destiny. You lie still and listen to Sidon's breathing, feel it shift the water beneath you. You can wait a moment more before you wake him and say goodbye. The sun can rise a little more before you do.

He sleeps in later than you would expect him to. You would think a prince would rise much earlier. 

You have to go. You can't wait any longer. The world is waiting for the Hylian Champion, so Link needs to wake up and be him now. You sit up, and stand. The metal is cool and damp beneath your bare feet. The air clings to your skin and begs you to stay.

"Are you leaving?" 

You don't turn. You can't read his expression from his voice and you're afraid what you'll see on his face. Your blood feels cold within your hands and you wish they'd fall off and stop you from speaking. 

"Link?" 

You nod, briskly, without turning, and stride forward to grab your tunic and pull it over your head.

"Ah. Perhaps you can show me that laser your sword can shoot next time, then," he says. His voice is soft, and sad. You wince at that. The time for sadness isn't yet. It will come soon enough.

You buckle the belt around your chest and shrug it into position, pulling on your socks. Sidon says nothing until you realize you left the tie for your hair on the nightstand and you pause. You'll have to face him to get it.

You stand for a moment, kneading the hem of your tunic in your palm, before you turn. 

His face is as sad, resigned as you might have expected, as if he expected this. You don't know what he knows, what he thinks. Perhaps he's just realized there really is nothing beneath the surface with you. You pick up your tie from the nightstand, and pull your hair back, his eyes still on you.

'Thank you for letting me stay the night,' you sign, gestures sharp, formal. 

"Of course," Sidon says, "You're always welcome here."

You look past him, to the sun peaking over the mountains. You can't see Hyrule Castle, but it's waiting for you. It's time to say goodbye.

'Thank you for being my friend,' you tell him, even though you shouldn't. He straightens up, his eyes softening.

"It's my pleasure," he says, rising, stepping around the side of the bed. He looks like he wants to reach for you, touch your hand or hug you. He doesn't. "Your friendship means quite a bit to me."

He doesn't understand. He doesn't realize you aren't real at all. He still thinks he can get through to you.

'I'm sorry,' you sign, without thinking. He furrows the crown of his brow, red scales crinkling in confusion.

"For what?" 

Your mouth feels dry, and the sun casts shadows on your hands when you look down at them. Your hands are shaking. Why are they shaking? You aren't afraid to die.

'Goodbye, Sidon,' you say, trying to memorize how it feels to fingerspell his name. It feels real.

"Goodbye?"

You turn to grab the doorhandle and stop when he grabs your wrist. You turn back to look at him and he yanks his hand away as if burned, looking guilty.

"I'm sorry-" he stammers, "You… are welcome to leave, if you must." 

You pause, caught in his gaze. His eyes are large, and furrowed with concern, and an inability to comprehend. What does he see when he looks at you? A reflection on the ice, or a creature trapped within it? He must believe you are the image, when you are the glass. You have dragged this out long enough, caused enough suffering with your selfish actions. It's time to go.

'I must,' you sign, finally, mouth dry. You open the door, and shut it behind you. Your fingers slide from the nob as if letting go of the face of a cliff. You feel like you are falling, but you are standing still, alone in the hallway.

You open your map and your fingers hover over Hyrule field, before tapping it. The world is nothing but light, until it isn't, and you are surrounded by soft grass and unmarked graves. The sun is creating on the horizon, the sky the colour of robin's eggs. Your eyes flicker in the direction of your own unmarked graves, but your feet do not follow the path toward it.

Who died there, one hundred years ago? Was it you? The real you? Another person entirely, the rightful owner of the body you wear like a stolen suit of skin? 

You've left Sidon a terrible final memory. You are as much a failure as your predecessor, in that way. You wonder if he, too, was so cruel to the people who cared about him. Mipha didn't seem to think so. You stare at the ground, before folding your legs to sit, and opening a notebook from your bag.

_ Dear Prince Sidon, _

_ I want to apologize for the way _

You stop writing, tear out the page, ball it up and throw it into a puddle.

_ Sidon _

_ I'm sorry. I think it likely that by the time you read this letter, I will no longer be a part of this world, at least, whatever form I currently exist within the world will not exist in it anymore. I know that sounds weird. It's all weird. What I mean to say is that I'm going to fight Ganon, now, and I think it's pretty likely I'm going to die.  _

_ I am sorry for a lot of stuff. I'm sorry I came to see you last night, and made such a mess of things. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that was the real reason, but mostly I'm sorry I've let you believe things about me that aren't true for so long. I must admit, I am a coward.  _

_ It's easy, I think, to not fear death when you aren't really alive to begin with. That's another thing I didn't tell you, and probably should have, but after significant consideration, I don't believe that the Shiekah have the power to bring someone back to life. I think they brought this body back, but whoever existed in it a hundred years ago- I don't think that's me. I don't have his memories. I'm told I don't even act like him. I am not the chosen hero. I am just the body he left behind, and the unfinished business along with it. _

_ I want to thank you for your friendship, and your time. I hope you do not feel it was wasted. I only want to leave you at least with some closure, and I clearly wasn't able to with my wretched behaviour this morning. You have done nothing wrong. You never have. Not to me.  _

_ Please continue to be safe. Don't go lynel hunting yourself again. If all goes well, no one will need to go Lynel hunting again, anyway.  _

_ -the champion _

You carefully tear the paper from your notebook and fold it in thirds. Your thumbs drift over the crease as your thoughts swim and you look up at Hyrule Castle, heaving and swarming with black ichor and rage. You shouldn't even bother. You've been trying to read yourself away for two days and if you go back now you may never leave again. You have a duty. You are no more than your duty.

You open your map.

You will be quick. Portal in, place the letter on the slate podium, and then leave. It will take you less than a minute. This is the very last pit stop. No more delays. It's time to go.

For a moment, the world is nothing but light, until it isn't, and the shrine beneath the Zora's Domain surrounds you. Step forward, place the letter on the podium, leave. It's simple.

You step forward.

"Link?" You hear a surprised and familiar voice call out. Panic rises in your throat. You scramble for your shiekah slate again and drop it and the letter as you hear footsteps rapidly circle Mipha's statue and approach the shrine. 

You fumble in a frenzy, grabbing the slate and the letter again just as he jumps down the steps, two at a time, expression stunned, "You came back!" 

You swallow, awkwardly, trying to think of what to tell him. Your hands are full and you fumble again, trying to sheath your slate so you can answer him, and as you do, he clearly notices the letter you're holding. You pause, and look at it for a moment, before looking up at him, expression hardening. You really are a coward.

You thrust the letter toward him, jaw set, trying to remain expressionless. That's usually so easy for you, but you're suddenly struggling, without much experience in doing so. He blinks at the letter for a moment, confused, before he takes it. The parchment is tiny in his hands, and you feel smaller than ever as he unfolds it, and reads.

He doesn't look up as he reads, but his face gives everything away. Alarm, confusion, horror, something that looks like grief. Your mouth tastes like cold iron, and you can bear to look no longer. You stare at the floor.

The ground is stone, and glows delicately even from the most solid parts of it's structure. You wonder what it's made of, and what the intricate carvings in it's surface mean. There's probably no one living who knows. If thats so, do they really mean anything? 

You hear him fold the parchment back together. Your face feels heavy, unable to look up. You don't want to know what expression he's wearing. Fear? Revulsion? Disappointment? Pity? 

"You can't die if you're already dead," he says, his voice hoarse, serious, unlike him. Your heart flutters in your chest, beneath the butterfly scars of your oblivion.

You look up, brow furrowed in confusion, a question on your tongue, unspoken. His eyes are resolute as they watch you, mouth a serious line. 

"You can't die if you're already dead," he repeats, "So don't die."

You blink at him. What a strange thought.

"I don't pretend to know the world you live in," he says, pressing the letter to his chest beneath his folded hands, "But I hope I am a part of that world. I mean to say… I want you to continue to exist, after." 

You grimace, kneading your hands against the fabric of your tunic. You shut your eyes as his fingers brush your cheek, shivers lighting up the back of your neck.

"I can touch you. You're real. I don't care if you're a champion or a stalfos piloting a corpse. Every moment I've spent with you has been real, and certainly has not been wasted."

You open your eyes, and see, strangely, tears in his, pinpricking at the corners. He's knealt down, hand on your cheek, large and cool, palm pressed against your skin. "Don't die," he says. 

Your heart beats in your chest, a real thing within your ribs that pumps blood through your veins. "I won't," you wheeze, the words like sand in your throat, an uncomfortable expression. Sidon's eyes soften. 

"Come back to me, when you win," he says. You release the hem if your tunic from your shaking fingers.

'I will,' you reply, tapping the flat of your hands to your temple, and moving it forward. The longer the movement, the farther in the future it means. You make it short. You touch your hand to his on your cheek. 

You will win. You won't die. You have a promise made, a duty left. You are your duty.


End file.
